


Aw, Don't Flatter Yourself, Babe (He's Like That With Everyone)

by trickstartmonk



Series: super!duper!clueless! [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Empath, Gen, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstartmonk/pseuds/trickstartmonk
Summary: Joe smiles upside down at him from his place on the ceiling. He's sprawled out, lazily tapping his fingers, and probably stoned. He says, "Shit, man. We'll never be Russia."





	Aw, Don't Flatter Yourself, Babe (He's Like That With Everyone)

“Guys, guys. _Guys.”_

“Pete, shut up,” Joe calls from the other room.

Patrick intones, “What. Pete, what.”

Andy doesn’t answer Pete, he’s busy cross stitching a rose on the couch. It came in a kit, it’s very pretty and time consuming, and answers Pete's scoff with ' _No, it’s not girly, Pete, don’t be sexist.'_ Some people just have no appreciation for the arts.

“This is serious!” Pete yells. He’s waving his arms a little frantically, Patrick thinks.

Joe’s laugh carries from the bathroom, causing Pete to yell even louder, “Hey fuck _YOU_!”

Patrick sighs loudly.

Andy says firmly, “Pete, get on with it.”

Pete takes a deep breath. He puffs out his chest and smiles, albeit a tad deviously, and announces, “I think we should, like. Fight crime.” He karate chops the air and accidentally kicks the coffee table.

Joe walks in the room, takes one look at Pete jumping around on one foot whimpering and grins. He points a finger and tells Pete seriously, “Watch out for the table, man.” When Pete glares, Joe continues, “It’s antique.”

Patrick ignores the scuffle.

From what he gathers though, Pete tackles Joe and Joe bites because Joe is viscous like that and Pete never learns. When he looks up, or more specifically, _down_ onto the floor where the kerfuffle has taken place, he passively watches Pete being crushed beneath Joe’s weight. He sits on Pete’s back, cross-legged, with his arms on his knees in a meditative fashion.

Every time Pete grumbles or cries, Joe just hums louder.

(Patrick knows he could calm down everyone within a twenty foot radius right now if he wanted to, but no one else has resorted to using their powers.)

Andy groans in frustration and throws his needle project onto the arm of the couch beside him. Grumbles, “I can’t work like this,” and storms out.

Patrick sighs from his seat on the couch again. He calmly asks Joe, “Let him up, please.”

Joe opens one eye and smiles. He stands up quickly, and for the brief moment Pete is still stuck on his stomach, he presses of foot hard onto his lower back. Joe thinks he looks like a heroic captain in the stance, but Patrick shakes his head.

“You look like a bully.”

Joe gapes.

With Joe distracted and less pressure forcing him down, Pete jumps up. He tries to attack Joe again, but Joe lets him maul his back a little without fighting back.

Pete says again, this time perched on Joe, “No, seriously, guys.” He shifts a little of his weight and Joe hikes him up a little higher up his back.

Joe is confused and asks, “Wait, what?”

"Us, fighting crime. You know, what with our superpowers?"

Patrick wonders aloud, "Do you think we can even call them  _super_ powers? They're pretty basic, don't you think?"

Joe rubs his chin. "Maybe you  _make_ them super by what you do with them. Like, it's up to you to utilize it."

Pete tightens his legs around Joe's hips and slaps his shoulders. " _GUYS._ Listen to me!"

"So you think even a lousy power, like, the ability to throw up at anytime can be  _super_ if you make it extra cool? Seriously?"

Joe nods, and responds, "Yeah, like. Maybe if you're on a cool team that saves the day all the time. Because, like, even if the only cool thing you can do is vomit whenever you want, you could be useful in the group setting."

Pete makes such a fuss trying to get everyone's attention that Joe decides to drop him. There's a big  _thump_ and Joe's muttered promise to never give Pete a piggyback again, the unruly bastard, but Patrick smiles at the threat. The two of them are too cuddly and playful to stop pretend-fighting. Patrick gives them an hour, tops, before Pete's hoisted on Joe's shoulders or plastered to his side or something equally ridiculous. 

"So like." Patrick tries to think of a proper circumstance in which the power could be practical. "Maybe the team gets captured by a group of sadistic psychopaths who wanna watch them suffer, right?" Joe furrows his brow and nods, interested. "And the evil-guys are like, ' _one of you will die! HAHAHA! Someone must swallow this convenient poison, muahah! Which one of you shall it be?_ And our favorite Puke Boy oh-so-bravely volunteers, but throws it up right on the captors." Patrick looks pointedly at Joe. "Is it a  _super_ power now?"

Joe considers this and kicks at the hand tugging at the bottom of his jeans. "Maybe? Because I think we're choosing to define it as- Pete, stop that."

Pete frowns. He calls up from their feet, still resolutely pulling at Joe's ankles, "Yes. It's a superpower. Because you're using it for a greater good, like Joe said."

Patrick mulls it over in his head. "So if we. Like. _Band_ together," Pete giggles at the play on words, "And we used them. With a  _purpose._ That's a superpower?"

"Yes!" Joe and Pete call out simultaneously. Immediately they scream, " _JINX_!" and giggle. 

Pete laughs, "You owe me a kiss!" He sits up with his legs spread out and makes grabby hands up at Joe. He closes his eyes and grins with his eyebrows raised, turning his cheek up. Joe automatically puffs his own cheeks before leaning down to kiss it.

Perhaps this is an all too normal occurrence because when Patrick predictably says, "You  _guys,_ " Pete's already saying it with him in the exact same tone and timing.

Pete's eyes are soft when he looks at Patrick.

"Jinx."

Patrick blushes but leans forward on the couch. Pete leans in with his lips puckered, wraps a stealthy hand around Patrick's calf, and tugs hard, nearly sending Patrick into Pete's lap. Pete just chuckles and holds Patrick close. 

When he kisses Patrick's nose, his cheeks aren't dramatically puffed or filled with air. It's, as always, strangely earnest, and Patrick tries to will his own reddening face away. Pete's eyelashes fan dark against his tan face, and Patrick goes a little cross-eyed for a second there watching him. After a few seconds, he wiggles out of Pete's lap and onto the ground beside him, stretching out when his back cracks against the carpet.

He doesn't think about how Pete always holds him a little longer than necessary and a little gentler than he would Joe or Andy.

Joe looks down and grins, curls falling into his face. He says he didn't realize it was a floor-party, sorry, he must have lost his invitation in the mail. He plops down too. Pete and him pretend to push and poke at each other before settling.

After a bit, Andy saunters back out, presumably to grab his cross stitch, and stops. His eyes dart between his band mates. He opens his mouth, closes it, and finally shakes his head and looks straight at Patrick; the Most Responsible member. He asks flatly, "What."

Patrick shrugs but wonders how it must look to an outsider. They're laying in a circle, sort of, with their heads almost touching and feet pointing in completely different directions. They aren't even talking. In fact, Patrick thinks Joe has passed out. Pete, to Patrick's left, is breathing evenly but huffing soft laughs randomly, though with his eyes closed. Like his imagination is that funny.

Patrick turns his attention away from his lyricist. He lifts an eyebrow and pats a spot on the ground, smiling when Andy lays down too.

They've got good synergy. Patrick wonders if their mere existence and cooperation of their abilities makes them  _super_ but doesn't ask.

Patrick shifts to make room for Andy before he realizes that he's now pressed up against Pete. He's about to wriggle away, but Pete flops over, winding his body around him and pulling Patrick even closer. He nuzzles Patrick's neck and wraps an arm around his middle, keeping him close. Patrick glances over at Andy, who's eyes are closed now too, and sees a faint smirk on his lips. He's about to call the traitor out when Pete murmurs against his jaw. He tries not to shiver, and can't make out the words.

He asks, "hmm?" But Pete drowsily shakes his head and presses even closer, lips trailing over Patrick's ear and collarbone. Pete holds on tightly, as if Patrick would ever leave, and sleeps. 

Patrick passes out sometime later, staring at Joe's ceiling and wondering about the antique table Pete kicked earlier. It feels ancient, like it happened eons ago, but Patrick knows it couldn't have been more than an hour. He feels Pete's steady heartbeat bumping through their shirts where their chests are pressed so closely, and thinks Pete must be able to feel when Patrick's beats nervously, beats wildly. 

It does that a lot near Pete these days.

 

_Later, when Pete looks up the definition of "superpowers" to settle the earlier conversation, google defines it as: 'a very powerful and influential nation (used especially with reference to the US and the former Soviet Union when these were perceived as the two most powerful nations in the world)._

Andy shrugs and goes back to staring intently at the ladybug on his hand, occasionally talking and laughing with it.

Joe smiles upside down at him from his place on the ceiling. He's sprawled out, lazily tapping his fingers, and probably stoned. He says, "Shit, man. We'll never be Russia." He actually looks a little upset when he says it, eyes redder than usual (from the pot or from being upset, Pete will never know) and lets out an uneven breath.

Pete's kinda bummed out at the definition too, but he doesn't say anything.

Patrick takes one looks at him and reasons, "I mean." He puts a soft hand on Pete and smiles knowingly. "It's okay, though. That's just  _Google's_ definition. Remember what we decided yesterday?" He stares until Pete nods, " _We_ make our powers  _super._ " His smile is reassuring and Pete melts into their one point of contact. He nods again, and lets Patrick pull him into a big side hug.

"It's not even important." He says the words into the cotton of Patrick's shoulder. "It was just, like, an idea or whatever." 

Patrick almost rolls his eyes. His cheek rests on Pete's head and he counts the seconds. Pete gets like this sometimes, where he gets so doubtful he needs reassurance, even if it's over something as stupid as this. A dumb definition.

He thinks about telling Pete they can be a secret crime-fighting band or that they can write a few songs with that as the message but does neither. In the end, he tugs Pete even closer and watches the stress melt off him in waves.

Sure, it might be cheating to use his powers like this just to feel Pete calm and sated against him, but it's beneficial for Pete too, he swears.

(Sometimes, when Pete's manic and angry, he'll lock himself up in a room and refuse to come out. He thinks the time alone is better for him, but it only serves to make him feel more isolated and scared. It takes a simple touch or voice drifting through the door to settle him, something only Patrick can provide.

Or at times when Pete's still excited and buzzing from a show it'll be up to Patrick to help him out. It'll be 2am and he'll be grinning bright and real, but exhausted at the edges. He'll get really tired but too hyper to just go to bed, so he'll usually just crawl into Patrick's bunk. Patrick likes to think that even without his ability he's have the same affect on Pete but knows it's just wishful thinking. 

Pete's just one of those people with a lot of emotions and energy to pacify, so it takes more than the usual person. Patrick justifies that Pete just needs contact  _and_ the verbal aspect to truly feel it.

When he explains this to Andy, he scoffs.

Whatever.)

Pete lounges against Patrick for at least two hours and Patrick can't bring himself to move.

He ignores Joe's waggling eyebrows and Andy's suggestive smiles.

His arms is perched carefully on Pete's shoulder and when he shifts to remove it, Pete frowns and burrows closer.

Patrick curses his heart, which beats fast in his ribcage. Pete puts a hand on it and whispers into Patrick's ear, "dude. It's like a galloping horse in there, are you okay?" He sounds genuine and earnest and so fucking  _concerned_ that Patrick hates himself and his stupid crush.

He digs his fingers into Pete's upper arm and breathes in the smell of his shampoo. 

"Yeah."

His voice is even, thankfully.

 

When Brendon hangs out with them, everything gets a lot brighter for Patrick.

He actually means this literally, too. Patrick can sense energy and emotions,  _duh_ , and when there's an abundance of them, everything feels murkier and brighter and louder and almost silent at the same time. Like Patrick's knocked underwater and can hear the lifeguards yelling but can't quite make out the actual words. Like his ears are clogged with water and the water is liquid sunshine; blinding.

Brendon is a lot for Patrick.

That doesn't mean they don't all hang around, though. 

"Yeah! Exactly!" 

"Really? You just drank all the Redbulls?!" Joe laughs.

Brendon smiles so big his eyes crinkle. He shrugs, "What else was I supposed to do?" 

Pete wheezes, " _MAYBE NOT CONSUME ENOUGH CAFFEINE TO KNOCK OUT A HORSE?!"_

Brendon just giggles, "But they said they were gonna throw it out! That's nine PERFECTLY good Redbulls!"

Even Andy wipes a tear at that one, clutching his stomach.

Patrick laughs too, but keeps a slight distance. Everything about Brendon makes him feel too much sometimes, like he hyperfocuses on his tapping foot and twitching mouth, can't help but stare at his moving hands and  _brownbrown_ eyes.

It's not want that drives him but almost a natural desire to be around him, to laugh when he does, to make him grin at your jokes.

Afterall, Brendon has powers too.

(When Brendon sings, it's siren-like. Captivating, almost feeling dangerous.

When he talks, it's challenging and innately flirty; always drawing people in.

When he stares at you, the intensity is. Well. A lot.)

_His ability is called something long and boring, the classification strangely ill-fitting to describe him. Brendon usually just stares at his feet and says, "Incubus."_

Brendon later walks over to him, and does his best to turn the charm off like he usually does when addressing Patrick. He's very considerate, always has been since they first met and Patrick got a headache from being so dizzy from the flurry of overwhelming feelings. Brendon had asked how to help, eyes big and concerned, and Patrick was reminded of Pete. He ended up saying " _Just, fuck. Turn it off, turn it off, please._ " And Brendon seemed to always understand it from then on.

He smiles at Patrick. "How are you?"

"Good. I'm alright." He takes a sip of his water and grins. "You?"

Brendon smiles at the ground and shoves his hands in his pockets, always more shy and truthful without his ability; vulnerable. Patrick thinks it's sweet he gets to be one of the few who sees him like this, in contrast to his normal-alluring self. "Am awesome. The best."

"That's good, glad to hear it." He chuckles good-naturedly and says, "Loved the album."

Brendon absolutely lights up, like Patrick knew would happen and starts bouncing a little. "Yeah? That's great! I mean, like, I know you say that every time I release one, but it's always great to hear." He looks up at Patrick and all of his teeth are showing when he says, "You'll always be like. An idol."

Patrick beams, says, "Thanks."

Brendon nods and walks back to the group. He unconsciously enables his ability again, just a little, and retakes his place in the conversation.

Patrick can feel the beginnings of an ache tug at his temples, but he can't really blame Brendon for anything at all. In fact, it takes more effort to make Brendon turn  _off_ his charm than on, and really, Patrick appreciates the sentiment dedicated to him.

When he smiles and waves at everyone, they let him rest without disturbances. 

The walk to Pete's spare is quiet and perfect. 

When he wakes up though, middle of the night, Pete is pressed along his back.

Distantly, Patrick wonders if Pete came looking for him and creeped in without rousing him, or if he automatically knew where he was. Before he can process anything further, he promptly falls back asleep.

Hours later, they're tangled together: legs, chests, and limbs.

In the dark of the morning, he presses back into the heat and cuddles closer.

It hurts to tear away from Pete's sleepy death grip come the sunshine, but Patrick thinks he handles it relatively well.

Pete frowns and throws a hand out onto the now cold spot in the bed.

Patrick's heart sinks and slows. Pete's emotions are intense loss and sadness and it translates even in his sleepy-state of consciousness.

The door sounds loud in the quiet of the house when it closes, and Patrick fights a sad sigh.

It's nothing, really.

(It is in fact, everything.)

 

On tour, things are easier.

Joe likes to levitate around, do his thing, pull light-hearted pranks. The works.

Andy finds little animals to converse with when he's bored or pissed off, as usual.

And Pete, well. Pete's a leech, but what's new.

That's actually the funny thing about Pete. His power. The ability to mimic any power, much to everyone's annoyance. He absorbs the ability through touch usually, like handshakes or hugs and the powers last for about 24 unobstructed hours.

Brendon and Pete are dangerous when Pete uses his power, the sexual tension  _palpable_ and potent. (Patrick huffs and stays away out of necessity and _only_ necessity, shut the fuck up, Andy.) Pete and Ryan were funny when they hung out because then Pete could go invisible when he wanted, and he loved to fuck with Joe. Spencer, surprisingly enough, can cancel out powers and has a one-up on Pete because of it. It's also how Spencer stays so unaffected by someone as charismatic as Brendon and basically kept his band from losing their shit all the time.

Most of the time though, Pete uses his power to screw with people. "A taste of their own medicine," is how he explains it. People usually get pissed off. 

(It doesn't actually annoy Patrick, especially when that's the only person who can calm  _him_ down.)

Patrick huffs and sits on the bench in the shade. He's got a headache from all the calming he had to induce when the crowd started getting too rowdy. He's exhausted, had to extend his proximity to like, a hundred yards, and almost knocked out some of thee kids closest to the stage.

It was a nightmare, fucking  _fuck,_ his skull throbs.

Pete finds him some time later and sits close enough their thighs and forearms touch. He radiates Patrick's power back at him, parrots it, and hums an off-key version of a Foofighters song Patrick can't remember the name of. Or words, actually.

Patrick nods off with Pete's murmuring in his ear, he's so tired. He stumbles back to the bus, Pete's firm hold guiding him and encouraging him softly.

"You're a leech," he grins as they walk past the lounge.

Pete chuckles, "Aw, Pat, you sweet-talker, you." He gets Patrick lying in his bunk and goes to close the curtain. He whispers, "but you love it." Patrick almost pulls him closer, but manages to resist. He counts it as a win, anyway.

And the sad thing? Patrick kind of _does_ love it. 

 

He wakes up to Pete crawling into his bed at some point in the night and smiles into Pete's chest when he pushes closer, always closer.

Aw, well. 

Whatever.

A crush is a crush, Patrick thinks as he breathes in Pete's cologne, and some crushes are okay.

Pete drowsily kisses Patrick's temple, and nothing about it is anything but familiar and friendly, but Patrick can't fight the burning in his gut.

Aw, fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> superpower fic? lemme know if anyone enjoyed this!


End file.
